Good Days
by katierosefun
Summary: Tony Stark can't sleep again, and he may or may not have snapped at Peter. And now Tony owes Peter an apology because there is no way in hell Tony's going to let Peter feel any kind of guilt or pain. [Post-Endgame, fix-it of sorts]


There were good days. Good days with Pepper resting on Tony's chest, Morgan giving Tony yet another picture of the Iron Man armor ("look, it's you saving the world!"), Peter insisting the Stark family watch _Star Wars _yet _again_ for movie night. Good days with Clint's kids teaching Morgan how to use a bow and arrow, good days with Bruce swinging by to help out with house repairs, good days with the occasional postcard from Steve or Nat or even Thor (who was apparently enjoying all that outer space had to offer him). Good days when the world seemed intact and right, just as the world was meant to be.

And then there were the bad days.

Or bad nights.

The darker thoughts would creep in every once in a while. Sometimes every few months; sometimes every few days. At least in those times, Tony had Pepper to turn to. Pepper, who would quiet Tony's mind until he fell asleep.

Right now, though, Pepper was away with Morgan on some Mommy-Daughter trip Morgan's elementary school thought was a good idea.

So that meant Tony was pacing around and around the bedroom, urging his head to _sleep_. Tony had long since given up checking the time—the last time he had looked, the hands were pointing at two in the morning, and Tony was pretty sure he had been pacing for at least an hour now.

Tony exhaled a long, tremulous breath as he came to a stop in front of the bed. His body sagged under the gravity of the room—this suddenly suffocating, too-small room. He wanted to lay down. To close his eyes, let sleep take over for once, and drift into some dark unconsciousness otherwise known as rest.

But every time he did (or tried), something heavy would sit on Tony's chest. His throat would constrict, his breaths would come out less like breaths and more like pants. He'd close his eyes only to snap them back open, unable to take the images of mass destruction around him for another second. And then Tony would be back to worrying the floorboards with his constant pacing.

Tony rubbed a hand over his eyes. Late. It was late. The sun was probably already on its way to rising now.

He wanted to rest.

Tony started pacing again.

He had only started up his pacing for a few minutes when a soft knock sounded from the door.

Tony froze. The knock couldn't have been from Pepper or Morgan, since the Mommy-Daughter trip wouldn't end until tomorrow (or technically later this) night.

"Mr. Stark?" Peter's voice came through the door. "Um…Mr. Stark, you okay?"

Tony stared straight at the door. For a moment, he considered not saying anything, but then Peter continued, "I can kinda hear you. From the other room. Is everything okay?"

Dammit. Sometimes, Tony wasn't too sure how powerful Peter's senses actually were. There'd be times when Peter could hear Morgan's heartbeat from the other end of the house, and then there'd be times when Peter would smack face-first into the sliding glass doors because he wasn't paying attention to his surroundings.

"Fine," Tony heard himself say. It was one thing for him to find Peter awake at an ungodly hour—it was another thing for Peter to find Tony like _this_. "Go back to sleep."

There was a pause. And then, "Have you been awake this whole time?"

"I don't have to answer that."

"Mr. Stark, can you open the door?"

Tony looked up at the ceiling. "Can you just go back to your room, Peter?" he asked, his voice coming out surprisingly sharper than he meant. But there was no taking things back now. Dammit, Tony wanted to _rest_. Why couldn't he just _rest_?

Peter's voice was quieter when he said, "I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

A pang of guilt pained through Tony's chest. But the words were already said. "I don't need you to check on me, kid. Just go back to sleep."

Tony tried not to picture Peter's shoulders slowly sagging (sagging like Tony's body was right now) as the boy replied softly, "Okay. If you say so, Mr. Stark."

Tony heard the sound of soft footsteps retreating from the door, and he slumped down on his bed, even though he still wasn't ready for any kind of sleep. All he could hear now was the quiet hurt in Peter's voice, and all he could see now was Peter's wide brown eyes as Tony's own words probably registered.

_Dammit_.

Tony pushed his hands up to his face. The kid had only been trying for help—Tony knew that. He _knew _that.

And then slowly, painfully, a different memory flashed through Tony's head: one of a similar situation, only Tony as a little boy, walking not into a bedroom, but into an office. A stern, hardened man sitting at a shiny wooden desk. A glass of auburn liquid perched in the man's hand. Tony asking about something, maybe wanting to show something to this man who was supposed to be his father. The man, this man who was supposed to be Tony's father, telling Tony to get out of the room. Tony, retreating quickly with tears stinging his eyes and head bowed low.

_Dammit. _

Tony dropped his hands to his lap. He stared down at his hands—those hands which were just like Howard's, probably just like the rest of the Stark men's before him. Tony had made his peace with his father (or at least tried to). There were some things his father was trying to build together. There were some things his father was trying to leave for Tony.

Not all of those things were good.

_Dammit. _

Tony pushed himself off the bed. He padded towards the door and winced at the sudden flood of bright lights when he opened it. Blinking black dots out of his vision, Tony started down the hallway. Tony rubbed a hand over one of his eyes again. His hand came away with nothing, but now the tender flesh around his eye stung under the sudden pressure.

Tony's feet moved from floorboards to carpets as he started through the den. The room glowed with dim, warm lights from the corners. Pepper had chosen those lights specifically, and Tony hadn't argued because he'd been too tired to argue back then. "They're relaxing," Pepper had assured Tony as she flicked one of the lights. And though she smiled, Tony heard the underlying message: _they'll relax _you.

Not that lights were exactly primary to Tony's own problems, but it was a gesture. And sometimes, the lights actually _were _enough on the middling nights (the nights when Tony wasn't sure whether or not to find himself in a place of happiness or grief) so he could at least close his eyes.

Tony cast a quick glance at those lights now as he walked past, but before he could face back forward, he stopped short at the couch.

"Why aren't you in your room?"

Peter jerked up from the couch. Tony tried not to snort at the curls sticking up from the back of Peter's head. But the small flicker of amusement quickly died at the worry and—Tony's heart clenched—apprehension in Peter's eyes. The boy edged to the end of the couch, one hand lightly brushing against the arm of the couch while the other hand hung limply at his side. Like Tony, Peter's feet were bare, pale, and when Tony looked down, his heart clenched tighter at the way Peter's toes curled and buried into the rug.

"Hey, Mr. Stark." Peter's voice was light, but the wrinkle near his eyebrow told Tony the feelings were otherwise. "I just…" He gestured at the couch. "It's comfy."

Tony lifted an eyebrow. "It's comfy."

"Yeah," Peter said slowly, rubbing a hand at the back of his neck. "And…I couldn't get that much sleep in my room, anyways. Not that my room isn't comfortable. It is." He gave a weak thumbs-up before hitting his hand back to the arm of the couch. "Ouch."

The silence stretched between the two: Peter still rubbing one of his hands behind his neck, and Tony just standing at the other end of the couch.

"And, uh," Peter's dark eyes flicked up to Tony. "What're you doing here, Mr. Stark?"

Tony's mouth dried. The words were right there, right at the edge of his throat, traveling to the tip of his tongue. He pictured a younger boy this time—a boy peeking into the doorway of an impressive office, a boy quickly being told to get out, a boy retreating to his bedroom to look through pictures of cars and stars and everything in between to get rid of the sharp scolding out of his head.

And then he saw Peter, eyes still expectant, the wrinkle near his eyebrow still furrowed deep into his skin, the pale toes still digging into the carpet. Oversized shirt, sleep still bagging down his face, curls still sticking up at the back of his head.

"I'm sorry."

At Peter's bunching shoulders, Tony continued, "I shouldn't have snapped." He lifted his hands halfheartedly. "You were right, kid. Things weren't okay for me. Things aren't always okay for me."

Peter's voice was small. "I know, Mr. Stark."

_But you shouldn't_, Tony thought.

"But you shouldn't," he said, swallowing hard. "Doesn't matter if things aren't okay—doesn't mean I'm allowed to act out." He pointed at Peter. "Doesn't mean anyone else is allowed to act out at you, either. Got it?"

A corner of Peter's lips twitched up into a smile, but Tony didn't want him to let this go just yet. No one should be able to forgive so easily, otherwise those easy forgivers get hurt by the bitter ones who stopped forgiving the world a long time ago.

"I'm sorry," Tony repeated. "It won't happen again."

"Okay." Peter's voice wasn't quite as small anymore. "Thanks." He rubbed his knuckles over the arm of the couch. After a small silence, he asked, "How often are things…not okay?" He flicked his eyes back up at Tony. "I mean, I just sometimes hear you. Walking around and stuff. Not all the time, but sometimes."

"On and off," Tony said with more ease than he would have expected. "Used to be worse before."

"Before?"

"Before…" Tony pressed his lips together. "You know."

Realization slowly dawned on Peter's face, and he looked back down again. "Oh."

"It was bad for everyone, though," Tony said quickly, looking up at the ceiling. "Clint went AWOL, Thor drank, and Nat tried to pick up the pieces." He forced out a quick laugh. "Pretty sure Steve and Bruce handled it the best. You've seen Bruce, but Steve founded some support groups." He lifted a shoulder. "And I had Pepper and Morgan to ground me. Most of me." He looked back down at Peter, whose smile had long since faded. Instead, Peter's eyes had softened, his muscles had relaxed. "I'm supposed to have less reasons to worry, but some old things don't go away."

"We're okay, Mr. Stark."

Tony tried for a smile, but it felt weak even to himself. "Yeah, I know, kid." He slid down to the couch, and even without a word or gesture, Peter slid into the seat next to him.

"What about you?" Tony asked. "How're you holding up?"

"Me?" Peter let out a long breath. "I mean, it's weird, you know? Like, MJ and Ned are in the same grade still, so that's great, but half of my class got dusty, so now they're all in college and stuff. Some of my teachers got dusted, too, but they can't work in my school anymore because no one knows how to hire them back." He perked up. "Mr. Delmar didn't get dusted, though, so he was happy when I showed up. He's a little older now, though, so that feels weird, too, because I mean, I'm still…fifteen." He frowned and looked over at Tony, stricken. "Nothing wrong with getting a little older."

This time, Tony actually managed out a laugh. "I get it, kid. For the record, though," he added, casting Peter a side-glance, "you're only allowed to make those jokes for another month before they get old."

"Got it," Peter said, sinking into the couch. Stretching his legs, he asked, "If we're here, can we watch a movie?"

"Aren't you tired?"

"Not anymore," Peter said, shrugging. "Are you?"

"Shouldn't matter—I asked you if _you _were tired."

Peter shrugged again. "I just wanna watch a movie."

Tony held Peter's gaze for a long moment. The boy, to both his frustration and admiration, didn't blink. That is, until Tony asked, "Why were you really here, kid?"

"I was wondering if you'd come out or not," Peter replied. He shifted in his seat. "I mean, I just wanted to be there in case…" His voice drifted, and his cheeks pinked. When Tony didn't help him finish the sentence, Peter said, "I just wanted to be around."

Warmth gathered behind Tony's eyes, and he quickly tore his eyes away before Peter could catch sight of any oncoming tears. "Pick a movie, kid," he said. "What're we watching?"

Tony heard the relief in Peter's voice as he replied, "_Empire Strikes Back_?"

"We watched that literally two days ago."

"Yeah, but it's the best movie of the series!"

"…true. Just put it on."

As the trumpets of the opening scene blared through the speakers, Tony couldn't help but cast another look at Peter. He had a relaxed smile on his face, eyes reflecting the yellow words scrolling up the television screen. As if sensing he was being watched, Peter glanced over at Tony and flashed another thumbs-up.

Tony smiled and turned back to the television.

This was going to be a good day.

—

Pepper figured coming back home early would be a nice surprise for Tony, though she wasn't quite sure what to expect upon coming back to the house. She figured that having Peter in the house would at least force Tony to take care of himself, but she still had some doubts.

"Did you have a good time?" Pepper asked Morgan as they headed up the porch.

Morgan grimaced, and Pepper only smiled sympathetically. Of course, as both Tony and Pepper had predicted, Morgan wasn't quite as interested in camping with other people. "I like my own tent," she said decidedly. "Sarah was nice, though."

"Yes, she was," Pepper replied, swallowing down the rush of thrill in her chest at the hope that _yes_, her daughter would actually make some friends who weren't all superheroes or nearly twice her age. "Maybe we'll have her over some time."

"Maybe," Morgan said as Pepper opened the door. "We're hoooome!"

But to Pepper's surprise (and worry), no one answered.

"Where's Daddy and Peter?" Morgan asked, poking her head into the parlor.

"Don't know, sweetie," Pepper said, forcing her voice steady. "Maybe they decided to go on a little adventure."

"Without us?" The genuine shock and annoyance in Morgan's voice would have been funny under normal circumstances, but this wasn't a normal circumstance.

"Tony?" Pepper called, stepping into the parlor. She kept one hand clutched tight on Morgan, the other wrapped around her keys. "Peter?" Still, silence.

_Where were they? _

Suddenly, Morgan giggled. "Found them," she whispered, yanking on Pepper's hand.

"Where—" Pepper turned to where Morgan was leading her.

And then Pepper smiled.

Right in the den, Tony and Peter were sitting on the couch together. Peter's head rested on Tony's shoulder, while Tony's head rested on top of Peter's. One of Tony's arms was slung around Peter's shoulders.

"Oh, boys," Pepper whispered, shaking her head. She looked down at Morgan, who was still giggling quietly into her hand. "C'mon, Morgan. Let's let them sleep."

* * *

**A/N:** I wrote this story to fulfill prompt #55 of Irondad 1000 Feelings, which can be found on tumblr. The prompt entailed of 'the dismay of realizing how much you're like your father' (so whoo boy, did my wheels start spinning). I highly recommend checking out the blog, especially for all you Irondad/Spiderson fic writers, because we need all the fics after Endgame.

I was oRIGINALLY going to make something fluffy and funny about Peter goofing off after Tony, but then I was like, 'no, but let's get sad about Tony.' So this happened. On another note, though, I didn't want to write about drunk!Tony out of respect for both his character and RDJ. Therefore, I tried to keep the aspects of Howard Stark in Tony to a lesser extent of pain.

As always, comments/criticism is always appreciated!


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